


Elementary 18: The Third or Minor Hiatus (1898)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary: The Complete Cases of Castiel Novak (and Dean Winchester) [18]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, Gay Sex, Hiatus, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Murder, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4921648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which I nearly lose Dean, and come to an important decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elementary 18: The Third or Minor Hiatus (1898)

**Author's Note:**

> (Narration by Mr. Castiel Novak.)

I

My dearest friend, the love of my life, the magnificent Dean Winchester. Despite the shabby way I had far too often treated him over the years, despite my twice abandoning him and once making him think I was dead, he has loved me through it all. He always has such an unjustifiably low opinion of himself, yet there was nothing that I would not have done for him. I would have killed for him.

In this case, I had to. And I did.

+~+~+

Dean's erstwhile readers, whom he regarded fondly even if some of them were borderline insane, were always quick to point out inconsistencies in his stories, and complain when he hinted at cases without then publishing full details of them, something he has mostly abstained from in this final collection of our adventures together. They were also adept at spotting variations in our caseload, although these were usually due to a preponderance of minor and uninteresting cases rather than diplomatically sensitive matters and/or those where publication would have hurt an innocent party. One such gap was the period of nearly a year between the case of the retired colourman ('Tall Tales') at the end of 'Ninety-Seven, and the affair of the dancing men ('The Song Remains The Same') some eleven months later. Only one 'additional' case occurred during that time, right at the start of 'Ninety-Eight, the matter that Dean has since documented concerning the murder of the Two Coptic Patriarchs ('Hello Cruel World').

In the original 'Castiel Canon' (as my wonderfully modest mate persists in calling it), Dean explained away these missing nine months with vague references to cases that could not be published. The truth was rather different and, for me personally, terrifying. I took on no cases during that time because I had come perilously close to losing the love of my life. Perhaps in view of the way I had treated Dean in the past, this was the Fates' way of reminding me that he could be taken from me, not just vice versa. It was a painful, if probably well deserved lesson.

+~+~+

I shall begin the events of this turbulent time by transporting the reader back to April of 'Eighty-Eight, when Dean and I went to Futility Island to solve the case of the retired captain ('Free To Be You And Me'). Even then he was looking after me, and Gabriel later confessed - reluctantly, I might add - that the two of them had connived to get me there so I could rest from a recent heavy workload. I did not deserve such adoration, and I marvelled every day that someone as beautiful as Dean – inside and out - could even look at someone like me, let alone cope with my variable moods and irregular demands.

(All right, he quite liked coping with my irregular demands, and he was never more glorious that when lying sprawled across the bed in a sex coma into which I had greatly enjoyed driving him into, but focus, please!)

At the end of the island case, readers will remember that the villainous Mr. Alistair Campbell was captured. He was subsequently sentenced to a long time in jail; Henriksen later told me that someone had relayed my part in his capture to him, and he had sworn vengeance on me, saying he would 'kill Novak through that damned scribe of his'. As he was safely locked up at Her Majesty's pleasure I did not overly worry, and put the matter out of my mind. Several people wanted me dead, and unlike Campbell none of them were locked up. Yet.

As mentioned in 'Free To Be You And Me', Futility Island lies just off the Essex coast, not far from the Colne Estuary. Apart from nearby West Mersea, the town from which the connecting boat sails, the only other place of any size visible from the island was the small town of Brightlingsea to the north. It was to that place that, barely a week after our return from Devonshire, Dean had to travel. Doctor Peter Greenwood's eldest son Connor, to whom Dean had stood godfather, had married an Essex girl, and they were expecting their first child any day now; his father had come down with a bad case of the winter flu, so Dean, generous as ever, had offered to stand in to perform the delivery. He left for the small port one snowy winter's morning, and I was missing him even as he walked out of the door. 

Or limped. I had been more than thorough in my 'farewells'!

I of course had wanted to go with Dean, but Balthazar had called round the day before and requested that I stay in London as there was a political crisis brewing, and he might need my assistance. He called round again that morning, only a couple of hours after Dean had left, and I immediately sensed that he was holding something back from me. I am not a violent man, but when he told me that Mr. Alistair Campbell had escaped from gaol the day before and was reported to be still in London, I lost my temper. I demanded to know if there really was a political crisis on hand, or if he had just deliberately held me back because he disliked Dean, and hoped that Mr. Campbell might kill him. His silence condemned him, and I told him to leave before I hurt him. I would deal with him later!

+~+~+

Dean had a considerable start on me, but on the other hand he was not particularly hurrying. I fairly flew out of the house, and managed to procure a cab to the Liverpool Street Station of the Great Eastern Railway Company. Once there, I hired a special and, having secured myself a copy of the company's timetables, set out in pursuit. I could only pray that I was not too late. To get to Brightlingsea, Dean would, thankfully, have to change twice, first at Colchester and then at nearby Wivenhoe. The timetables suggested that I might catch him at the latter station, and as my train raced through the Essex countryside, I prayed to whatever gods might be listening for aid. The stations continued to flash by, and I could only pace the carriage and fret.

Most annoyingly, we had to wait for a train at Colchester, and by the time we reached the junction at Wivenhoe, the Brightlingsea train had gone. I could only grind my teeth impatiently; the line was single-track, which meant that my train could not access it until Dean's train had reached the terminus. Finally however the line was clear and after a painfully slow journey we pulled into the rather grand terminus. I hurried out of my carriage, noting with some alarm that the stationmaster was waiting to greet me.

“Mr. Castiel Novak?” he asked brusquely.

“Yes?” I almost growled. I had taken the opportunity to telegraph ahead to Brightlingsea from Liverpool Street whilst my special was being got ready.

“There's been an attack”, he said. “Someone stabbed one of the passengers on the last train; the victim had your card on him. He's still with us, though his attacker got away; driver thinks he high-tailed it into the town.....”

I almost shoved him out of the way to hurry past, to where two men were carrying a stretcher. And on it was Dean, looking deathly pale. His eyes were unfocussed, but for a moment he caught my own and looked surprised.

“You came back”, he muttered, before passing out.

I was going to kill Balthazar!

+~+~+

In the chaos that followed, I totally forgot to ask Dean what he meant by 'came back'. It would be some five years before it would be explained to me.

 

II

My first two priorities were to safeguard Dean and to make sure that he had the very best medical treatment I could buy. For the next three days, the doctors advised keeping him unconscious as long as possible, so his body could have time to recover, and on the third day they consented to my having him moved. They were probably more than a little surprised that I organized this for the middle of the night, having telegraphed Miss Charlotta Bradbury for the services of her best agent to locate and keep tabs on Mr. Campbell. Once I was sure my love was sleeping, Dean was spirited away to a top hospital near London; it pained me dreadfully that I had to remain to keep up the illusion that he was still here. A second of Miss Bradbury's agents then made sure to leak a certain address to Mr. Campbell, and once I knew he had it, I made my way back to be ready for him, stopping only to call in at my mate's bedside. Seeing him broken like that, because of me, was too much, and I wept openly in the small room before pulling myself together and leaving. I had to be ready for the events of that night. 

+~+~+

The house I had chosen was that of a close family friend who lived in Hanover Square, a quiet area between Regent Street and Oxford Street. He was currently out of the country, and when I arrived my agents had already set up a small room as fitting for a recuperating patient, complete with all the paraphernalia a recovering patients needs but probably does not really want. They had even arranged a small automatic pump so that the heap underneath the bedclothes rose and fell periodically as if by someone's breathing. Mercifully it was a warm March day, so there was a good reason to leave a small window in the upstairs room slightly open. The balcony nearby was easily accessible to someone of Mr. Campbell's athletic abilities, I reckoned.

I made a show of leaving the house once it was dark, and I knew that Mr. Campbell was waiting outside. The cab took me round to the back of the house and I re-entered; I was sure that my prey would wait a few moments just to be sure that I was gone. In the event it was a full half-hour before I heard someone fiddling at the window, and a long, lithe figure slipped through and into the room. I could see the glint of steel in the moonlight – the moon was still nearly full – as he moved across to the heaped figure in the bed. I allowed myself a smirk from behind the screen.

My target was clearly and rightly suspicious at the large mass beneath the covers, but he crept steadily nearer until, with a swift move, he removed all the blankets in a single move. It was a pity that his back was to me at the time, because I would have quite liked to have seen the look of shock in his eyes, although the look I got when he heard me move round the screen with my revolver behind him was quite satisfactory. Then he snorted.

“Should've known it was a set-up”, he sneered. “So back to jail for me, eh? Don't you worry, Mr. Novak. They can't keep Al Campbell inside for ever. And when I do get let out, next time I'll come for you first!”

I smiled darkly and levelled my gun at him. His bluster vanished as if it had never been, and his eyes widened in terror.

“You're not gonna.....”

I did. 

+~+~+

A mystery donor had arranged an impromptu fireworks display for the children of the square that night, so one extra report was not noticed. There was also some delicious irony in that the fisherman, who was recompensed more than adequately to dispose of a large wooden crate that night, normally plied his trade along the Essex coast. Possibly Mr. Campbell's remains might end up somewhere near Futility Island again, as his body finally served a useful purpose – as fish food - after its wretched pollution of this earth.

+~+~+

Dean's recovery from the attack was slow and tortuous, and I suffered terribly if deservedly all through that spring as I faced the prospect that I might still lose him. I was never more grateful to his friend Doctor Peter Greenwood, who called in several times each day in addition to his regular heavy workload, reassuring me that things were progressing well. During that time I took on no cases whatsoever, spending my time sitting on the chair next to his bed. Or in his bed, although Doctor Greenwood proscribed only limited sexual activity for him, which of course did not improve his mood when he was conscious. I just had to be more inventive.....

This long period of enforced inactivity was also the first time in my life that I gave serious thought to my own mortality. The nature of my work had for a long time made the likelihood of me reaching old bones seem remote, but I would be forty-four later that year, and my love had passed forty-six earlier that year. Whilst I still felt a moral obligation to use my talents for the people of my country, I was also of the opinion that Dean and I deserved the right to retire one day, and that that day might not be too far into the future. It was at this time that I recalled Dean's rapture at the beauty of the Sussex Downs back in 'Eighty-Nine ('Sympathy For The Devil', the case of the blue carbuncle), and slowly but surely I came to a decision. 

Fifty. I would quit in nineteen hundred and four, on my fiftieth birthday. And we would retire to a small cottage on the Downs, where I could raise bees and we could live as alpha and alpha, far away from the world and all its demands. Balthazar could make his apology to me by ensuring our anonymity, though I doubted that I could ever truly forgive what he had done. Had I lost Dean as a result, Mr. Alistair Campbell would have had my brother for company in his final journey! And good riddance!

Six more years. I gently ran my hand over the chest of the slumbering alpha in the bed next to me, and he rumbled his approval, edging instinctively closer to me as he slept.

Six more years. It seemed a hellishly long time, but I could wait. For the man beside me, I would wait forever.

**Author's Note:**

> (End narration by Mr. Castiel Novak.)


End file.
